


Lipstick Stamps On My Passport

by DreamsAreMyWords



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Airports, CRC, Clexa, Clexa Rub Club, Clexa Week 2018, Day 4, Dirty Talk, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Humor, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Tension, Smut, Thirsty Clexa, Utter Filth, blame thessclexa for CRC, some minor mentioned Ranya and Linctavia, warning: one minor character (aka Anya) thinks they are straight but don't worry it's just a phase
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 11:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13833786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsAreMyWords/pseuds/DreamsAreMyWords
Summary: Clarke and Lexa are two strangers who happen to run into each other in airports. The first time they undress each other with their eyes. The second time they decide to get hands-on about it.Or: Lexa's a useless lesbian, Clarke's a useless bisexual, and this is a smutty, fluffy one-shot written for day 4: accidental stimulation for Clexaweek2018.





	Lipstick Stamps On My Passport

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late, sorry! I wrote so much of this just today haha. Let me know what you think. Now, I'm aware some of the bits about flying (particularly getting your luggage checked, where your luggage should be, etc) are not correct, but it was easier for the story and lbr I wrote this and you're reading it for the smut anyway so enjoy a very minor suspension of disbelief :) 
> 
> Shout out to my wife for reading this and getting all adorably flustered in the parking lot of our dentist's yesterday, to Yen for listening to me rant and specifying this is porn WITH plot, and to Nova for reading this and helping me decide on the title! 
> 
> This is probably the smuttiest smut I've posted on here so uh, let me know if it does the job xD
> 
> I also feel obliged to share that I also started writing a Cast Away au for Clexaweek, but as my wife and I are flying to England in May, she asked me not to post that in fear that it might jinx our trip. With that mentality, I wrote this airport au instead ;)

Lexa Woods is the biggest fucking useless lesbian around. There’s no argument about it, no way to dispute it; it’s simple truth.

 

When she was five years old, her grandmother bought her the best set of colored markers around; it was the box of seventy-two, and no one else in Lexa’s grade had any. She only had them for two days, before she gave them all to Indra Pine, Lexa’s new best friend and the prettiest girl in the whole school who pushed other kids off the slide and always picked Lexa second for tag, and Indra used them to draw all over the walls, and their teacher made them sit in the Time-Out corner. When she was eleven, she gave up the game-winning goal in an intense soccer game during recess to Luna Rivers, a pretty girl with a coy smirk usually directed Lexa’s way, and Luna missed it anyway. None of Lexa’s friends would talk to her for the rest of the day. When she was sixteen, she skipped class to go see a movie with Costia Patel, a beautiful girl whose smile never failed to make Lexa’s knees threaten to buckle beneath her. She had the first detention of her life the following day, and her parents took away her phone for a week.

 

And now here she is. Twenty-two years old and giving up her favored aisle seat to a stranger, just because her eyes are a pretty shade of blue that make Lexa feel as though she’s falling headfirst into the sky when she meets them.

 

“Thank you so much,” says the woman, and she sounds sincere at least. “I swear I have the bladder of a puppy or something.”

 

Lexa’s lips twitch as she surveys the blonde. “A puppy?”

 

The blonde’s cheeks flush a pretty pink. “I mean. There’s probably a better way to put it, but yeah. My last flight I was stuck between these two huge guys that snored the whole time. I couldn’t even climb over them. I thought my bladder was going to burst. It hasn’t been the same since.”

 

See, and this wouldn’t be a problem if it were anyone but Lexa. If it were anyone but Lexa, they’d be happy to get out of the aisle seat where the cart smacked into their elbows, and into the window seat so they could observe a breathtaking sunset.

 

But this is Lexa. And Lexa just so happens to also have an exceedingly small bladder, and a bladder prone to needing release more often when she feels anxious. And as if flying doesn’t already make her nervous enough, now she’s sitting next to a blonde bombshell with a pretty smile and a top with a fairly low v-cut, enough to expose generous cleavage that has Lexa’s mouth going dry.

 

“Well, I can’t make promises about the snoring, but I’ll try to keep it down.” She inwardly winces at her own words; they’re on a two-hour flight, she certainly won’t be sleeping, but the woman only smiles.

 

“I appreciate that. And, again, I really appreciate this, so thank you. My name is Clarke, by the way.”

 

Lexa fumbles with the book in her lap before she manages to shake the hand that’s offered to her, praying her palms aren’t noticeably sweaty. “Lexa.”

 

Clarke settles back into her seat as the plane begins rumbling onto the runway. “What are you reading, Lexa?”

 

“Oh, uh. Just rereading, actually.” She sheepishly turns the book to flash the cover at Clarke.

 

“Order of the Phoenix, huh? That was always my least favorite.”

 

“Least favorite?”

 

“Yeah. It just had a different feel to the other books. Harry was so moody, yelling at people all the time, and everything was so dark.”

 

“Of course he was moody, he was a teenager! And suffering from PTSD too, think about it. He’d just watched another kid die, then he was left to rot with his abusive family while everyone else was all holed up together.”

 

Clarke presses her lips together, somewhat hiding her growing smile, and hums. “I guess that’s true. I haven’t read it since I was a kid. I’m not usually one for rereading books.”

 

Lexa makes a noncommittal noise, distracted as the plane takes off. She doesn’t even realize her hands are balled into fists until Clarke prods her. “What? Sorry.”

 

“Are you scared of heights?”

 

“Um.” Lexa clears her throat, glancing out the window again. She already feels as though she could pee. Great. “A little. Maybe.”

 

Clarke studies her seriously, blue eyes concerned, and Lexa’s heart hammers against her rib cage. She really is exceptionally pretty, wearing a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, her hair up in a messy bun, and she apparently isn’t wearing much more than mascara by the look of it. God. It’s going to be a long two hours.

 

“I’m okay,” she says automatically, swallowing as she glances out the window again and then determinedly looks away again, staring at the seatbelt on light flashing overhead. This is another reason she preferred the aisle seat.

 

“Need me to hold your hand?” teases Clarke. She flushes again when Lexa only blinks at her, taken aback. They’d literally just met moments ago; is Clarke flirting with her? That’s definitely flirting, right? Fuck.

 

“I need to pee,” blurts Lexa.

 

It’s Clarke’s turn to blink. “Oh. Uh. You can’t get up yet, you have to wait for the light to go off.”

 

“Okay.” Breathing a bit shallow, Lexa casts around for something to distract herself. Her gaze zeroes in on that cleavage again. Okay, anything but that. She looks above it, at the necklace Clarke is wearing. It’s a peculiar one; it looks like a two-headed deer made out of metal, hanging on a thin chain. Lexa nods toward it. “I like your necklace. Does it mean anything?”

 

Clarke’s hand jumps to it, a shy smile curving her lips. “Thank you. My boyfriend made it for me.” Lexa’s heart sinks, and she fights to keep her expression composed. Definitely not flirting, then. “He works in a metal shop and makes a lot of little trinkets like this.” She goes on to explain the meaning behind the deer having two heads, but Lexa doesn’t hear any of it; the plane shudders as it gains altitude and all the blood drains from Lexa’s face as she clutches the armrests.

 

“Hey,” says Clarke softly, gently prying Lexa’s hand off the rest and taking it in her own, intertwining their fingers, and that really doesn’t help slow down her heart rate. “My mom’s not a fan of flying either. My dad always used to hold her hand when they took off, he said it would keep her grounded.”

 

“Sounds like a great guy,” Lexa manages to say.

 

Clarke smiles like she knows Lexa’s having trouble formulating comprehensive sentences, though she probably doesn’t half of the reason why is currently rubbing soothing circles with her thumb on the back of Lexa’s hand. “He was the best.”

 

“Was?”

 

“He passed away when I was a freshman in high school. Cancer.” She says it casually, as though it didn’t hurt anymore—but Lexa meets her eyes and she can tell, can see it in the tiny shake of blue irises as Clarke gazes back at her and smiles.

 

Lexa squeezes her hand. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay. He’s not hurting anymore. My mom’s happy too, she met a really nice guy and they married last year.”

 

“That’s good to hear. It can be hard to move on.”

 

Clarke tilts her head. “Are you…?”

 

“I was in a relationship for four years. We were high school sweethearts.

 

Clarke’s eyes dart toward their joined hands. “You’re not anymore?”

 

Lexa wonders if she was looking for a ring. “Nope. Split a couple years ago. Didn’t work out.” She shrugs. “We just wanted different things.”

 

“Hm.” Clarke absently plays with her necklace. “Well, I hope your next relationship works out better for you.”

 

“Me too.”

 

They exchange brief, somewhat awkward smiles before the lights ding and the intercom announces they can remove their seatbelts. Lexa does so at once, smiling at how Clarke laughs at her and waves away her apology for having to squeeze past her. When she returns, Clarke chuckles again at her for taking an overlarge step over her tucked legs and nearly tripping and face planting the window. Lexa opens her book up onto her lap but grows distracted once more when notices Clarke had apparently withdrawn a small sketchbook and pencil from her bag while she’d been gone and had already started on a sketch of a plane soaring high into the sky. It leads into a whole other discussion that stretches on for the better part of an hour and results in the two of them huddled close and laughing quietly at the atrocious stick-figure drawing Lexa adds to Clarke’s sketch when Clarke gets up to the bathroom. It’s of herself standing safely at the ground looking up. Clarke adds her own stick figure that Lexa is certain, considering the hyper-realism of the airplane, she only draws in the same style as Lexa’s as a manner of consistency; apparently Clarke is that stick figure, hanging in the sky looking down at Lexa, evidently capable of flying.

 

Clarke grows drowsy when they’re close to reaching their destination. She sleepily assures Lexa there’s never been a flight yet she’s not been able to fall asleep on. Lexa watches her fondly—too fondly for a stranger she just met—as she falls into a dose, and finally cracks open the Harry Potter book she’d yet to even open so far.

 

The plane trembles again when they start descending. After ten minutes of that Lexa is unable so she tucks her book away and sits back in her chair, warily glancing out the window and then at Clarke again. Is it sad she wishes she were awake to distract her? It’s a testament to this stranger’s ability to relax her that Lexa is seriously considering poking her awake. No, she can’t do that, that’s pathetic. She does need to empty her bladder again. The seatbelt signs aren’t on, but they’re sure to be soon…better hurry.

 

Turbulence is certainly working against her, because just as she arches a leg over Clarke the entire plane jostles, planting her in her lap, straddling a leg. Clarke’s eyes fly open wide and her hands automatically shoot out to Lexa’s waist to steady her, but all that does is pull Lexa down harder on her, slamming her crotch down into Clarke’s thigh and pushing her own knee between Clarke’s legs and drawing strangled gasps from them both.

 

“Oh my God. Sorry, I’m sorry,” hisses Lexa, certain her face was as red as Clarke’s as she hastily clambers off her.

 

“S’okay,” rasps Clarke, eyes dark. Lexa wonders if she’s annoyed.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you or sit on you,” says Lexa as she collapses into her seat, anxiously peering at Clarke. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

 

Clarke blinks a few times, shaking her head a bit. She looks down at her lap and blinks at it. When she lifts her gaze to meet Lexa, she’s still red-faced. “No, no, not at all. I mean, it’s fine. Did you need to go to the bathroom?”

 

Lexa opens her mouth to respond when the overhead lights ding and the intercom announces they’ll soon be landing. Clarke smiles a bit, it widening when Lexa returns it ruefully.

 

“Okay, if you wet yourself, I’ll cover you. I’ll pour my water bottle down the front of my pants and we’ll suffer together.”

 

“That’s not unnecessary, Clarke. But I appreciate it.”

 

Clarke takes her hand again, and Lexa can’t breathe, but it’s not due to anxiety from flying. When Clarke’s thumb begins to trace idle patterns on the back of her hand, it gets worse. Warmth spreads through her, stomach turning pleasantly, and for a minute she convinces herself that this is fine, everything is fine.

 

Then Clarke starts moving her thumb…differently.

 

She turns her hand so she can play with Lexa’s finger, and her thumb toys with Lexa’s. Lexa toys back, absently at first. Then she realizes the motions of her thumb. The deliberate circling, gentle, sometimes growing harder and more insistent before lessening again. The way she scrapes the tip of her nail across Lexa’s knuckle, circles with the pad of her thumb, strokes down the length of Lexa’s hand. Lexa stares out the window without really seeing, dizzy and overheated, aching with want—it pools between her legs. She’s wet. She’s so wet, all because of a pretty, charming girl playing with her hand.

 

She’s terrible, because Clarke definitely can’t realize what this is doing to Lexa, Clarke is just holding a frightened stranger’s hand to comfort them, Clarke has a boyfriend. But here Lexa is, biting down on the inside of her cheek, struggling to maintain an even breathing pattern even while she's throbbing. She tries to shift discreetly in her seat, her clothes uncomfortably tight, even the slightest brush of the insides of her thighs together far too sensitive. She can’t even remember the last time she was fucked. Far too long ago, clearly. She might have to fix that when she gets home.

 

Clarke pushes her thumb against Lexa’s and Lexa pushes back; Clarke returns the nudge and slips her thumb over Lexa’s knuckle, rubbing softly. Their palms are sweaty, sticky, and oh my God this is too much.

 

She’s saved the awkwardness of pulling her hand free from Clarke’s by the fact that they’ve finally touched down. She exhales in relief, dropping her head back against her headrest, and looks at Clarke to find her already looking at her. Dark blue eyes snap up to meet her gaze; she wonders where they’d been a second ago.

 

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, grateful her voice didn’t break.

 

“Thank you for giving up your aisle seat,” says Clarke, smiling. “Even though I think you ended up needing the bathroom more than me…sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.” Lexa smiles back, and that’s that.

 

They join the rest of the crowd, grabbing their carry-ons from overhead and shuffling off the plane. They pause in the lobby. Lexa notices a boy with floppy hair and a broad grin who exchanges a wave with Clarke when they step off. Clarke has a strange expression for a moment, a crease between her brow, almost like she feels guilty—but it’s gone in the blink of an eye, as she turns back to Lexa and extends a hand.

 

Lexa is oddly let down, a feeling that makes no sense considering that they are only strangers who met two hours ago. But she fights it away and smiles and waves and watches Clarke approach the boy who is undoubtedly her boyfriend, who sweeps her up in a tight hug and draws husky laughter from her.

 

They part ways and that’s the end of it.

  

\\\

 

It’s not the end of it.

 

It’s nearly a year later when Clarke, restless and bored, finds herself waiting for a flight home. Her mother and Marcus are thrilled she’s visiting them again, less than two months after her last trip. She has the majority of her belongings packed up in her suitcase; the rest have been sold or given away. There’s no stupid two-headed deer hanging around her neck this time.

 

She’s been at this airport for over four hours. Her flight’s been delayed a few times due to weather, and she can only hope she won’t be trapped here overnight; judging by the constant screenshots of the radar her mother keeps sending her as though Clarke doesn’t have her own weather app, it isn’t unlikely. She shoots off a couple texts, one to Raven and one to Wells, loftily complaining of her boredom, and entertains herself by people-watching. It’s always a fun pastime at an airport, and usually steady inspiration for her sketchbook. She’s not really in the mood right now. She hasn’t been in the mood to draw the past two months; she has, however, itched to stab someone with her pencil on more than one occasion. Depending on the news awaiting her regarding the fate of her flight, she might just be tempted again. For now, though, she fixes her gaze upon an approaching woman with gorgeous hair, rich chestnut locks, and a slim, curvy figure with legs for days. Mmm. Well.

 

Her heart stops and she stiffens in her seat when the woman turns around, focused on fiddling with her phone with one hand that has a plain black sack hooked around her wrist while she wheels her luggage with the other, heading straight for Clarke. Clarke suddenly forgets how to breathe, but she still finds some way to propel up to her feet.

 

“Oh my God. Lexa!”

 

The brunette turns, voluptuous curls falling over her shoulder, and as vivid green eyes land on her, Clarke’s steps toward her falter as a low pull begins in her lower stomach and her heart beats faster. Oh, Jesus fuck, she forgot how absolutely gorgeous this almost stranger is.

 

“Clarke?” she says incredulously, plump lips curving up into a beautiful smile that stretches across her face as she walks forward to meet her.

 

Clarke doesn’t give much thought to reaching out and tugging Lexa into a hug, nor does she try to linger on the fact that Lexa’s body fits perfectly snug into her own, on how perfect it feels to be molded together. She knows her cheeks are warm before she even pulls back to appraise Lexa, fingers brushing the soft cashmere sweater Lexa wears as she withdraws her hands.

 

“Wow! You know, I’ve missed you.”

 

Lexa’s cheeks go pink and it’s adorable. She’s adorable, and Clarke can’t stop grinning. “Really?”

 

“Yeah! My last few flights haven’t been the same without you. It’s not every day you get to spend two hours holding a pretty girl’s hand discussing Harry Potter. Still terrified of heights?”

 

Lexa purses her lips in a vain attempt to hide her smile; it makes Clarke laugh and Lexa’s attempt even more futile. “Still not a fan, but maybe that’s because I’ve been missing you too.”

 

“Where are you flying to?”

 

“Seattle?”

 

Lexa phrases it like a question, eyes shining with hope. Disappointment burns in Clarke’s chest much more than warranted. “California for me, I’m visiting my mom.”

 

She tries not to read too much into the fact that Lexa looks as let down as Clarke feels. “Ah. Well, it’s nice to run into you here, at least.”

 

“Yep. Both delayed for the weather, huh?” When Lexa nods, Clarke tilts her head and gestures toward the seats. “I have my sketchbook. How about I kick your ass at hangman again?”

 

Lexa laughs as they sit down together in the chairs, not side by side but facing one another. Clarke rummages around in her carry-on to dig out her fairly new sketchbook, sparing a thought for the old one she had at home that still contained the hilarious drawing she and Lexa had made last year; it made her smile every time she came across it.

 

They chat and catch up over the next few hours, and Clarke marvels over the fact that this is a stranger she shared one flight with nearly a year ago yet it feels like they’re old friends catching up as though no time at all has passed. It feels right, like this is what she’s been missing. It’s an unnerving thought. She discovers Lexa’s still working the same job, still living in Seattle, still has a cat at home named Pauna. She tells her about how she caught Finn cheating on her with a beautiful, brilliant engineer named Raven (that apparently she’d been his high school sweetheart and Finn was actually cheating on Raven with Clarke), but the two of them cut their losses (AKA Finn) and become close friends instead, even moving in together to help cover rent. She’s only just begun to tell Lexa about the job she’d just interviewed for in New York when the announcements are made that all outgoing flights are cancelled due to the weather, and the airlines are arranging overnight stay in nearby hotels.

   
  
Clarke suggests they get food but Lexa, the anxious thing she is, isn’t keen on leaving and possibly missing out on another announcement, so Clark manages to get her order out of her, takes the card Lexa offers, and excuses herself for a bit, Lexa promising to watch over her suitcase and bag, rolling her eyes when Clarke jokingly questions whether or not Lexa could actually be a thief or murderer. She grabs them food and brings it back and tries to ignore the spark that shoots up Lexa’s arm as their hands touch as she hands Lexa her a bottle of water and her card and receipt, tucking her own back into her wallet.

 

She takes a long drink, absolutely parched, and grows warm all over as she watches Lexa do the same out of the corner of her eyes. There’s been an ache simmering in her stomach since the moment she saw Lexa, and she’s quickly realizing there’s not much she can do about it, considering the fact that even if they exchange numbers, they live thousands of miles away—farther still now that Clarke will soon be moving to New York. But still, there’s just something about Lexa—something beyond the fact that she’s the hottest woman she’s ever seen, that is. Because Jesus, her face—that jawline, those lips, those cheekbones, those eyes; she looks as though she’s been deliberately carved by the gods, whatever that means. It’s more than that. Something about the soft tones of her voice, the way her tongue does this funny thing when she says Clarke’s name, almost like she’s clicking the _k_. Something about the shining intensity of her eyes, the way when she listens, it feels like she’s really listening; the way when she talks, it feels big and important as though the entire airport should go silent just to hear what she has to say. She’s so beautiful, both inside and out, and Clarke feels like it’s all she can do to just keep up, basking in the glow of a brilliant sun.

 

Lexa really brings out her gay side, apparently. Maybe Octavia is right and she really is a hopeless bisexual.

 

\\\

 

Clarke is even more beautiful than Lexa remembers. 

 

That’s the only explanation, because the only way Lexa could have forgotten how breathtaking she is would be if she suffered brain damage, and despite the many hours worth of listening to Anya rant about heterosexual nonsense she’d suffered through in the eleven months since she last saw Clarke, Lexa suspected that’s not the case.

 

It’s simply Clarke. She’s not sure what it is about her and there’s not much use in trying to figure it out; that would be like trying to learn why sunsets are so beautiful or why storms turn her on. Don’t question the special things. And Clarke—Clarke is special.

 

“So you were at a bachelorette party last night, yet you’re not hungover?” asks Clarke.

 

“I didn’t drink much,” says Lexa. “I mostly just babysat everyone else. My sister is crazy, even though she’s the older one, so she’s a lot of work.”

 

“I bet, if she’s anything like you.”

 

Lexa smiles and nudges Clarke’s foot; Clarke nudges back. Lexa suddenly remembers other nudging that once happened—thumbs, to be exact, and clears her throat, praying her cheeks don’t tinge pink. “She’s a dork. She and the bride-to-be gave me a gift to-go,” she picks the plain black sack with white gift tissue up where it had been nestled between her ankle and her luggage and shows it to Clarke, “and they told me I’m not allowed to open it until I'm on my plane.”

 

“What’s in it?”

 

“I don’t know yet. They said I’m not allowed to open it yet.”

 

Clarke arches a brow. “And you’re listening to them?”

 

Lexa pauses, forehead knitting as the words sink into her. “Actually, I don’t know why I am listening to them.” She chuckles as she sets the bag on her lap and begins lifting the tissue. “Knowing them, it’s something annoying or stupid to drive me cra—“

 

Oh my God.

 

Her sentence cuts off with a strangle garbled noise somewhere between a splutter and a choke, and she wastes no time in shoving the gift tissue back inside the bag and the bag back on the floor between her ankle and bag. A furious blush overcomes her; she is going to kill Anya and Octavia. She’d have to figure out a way to discreetly toss the bag and its contents into the trash before attempting to board the plane and go through customs with it, God. She knows their intention is 100% to humiliate her during bag checks. Jesus. She doesn’t even want to get up in front of all these people and throw it away.

 

She looks up and meets Clarke’s eyes and her stomach clenches because um, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

if she’s being honest, she’s not sure she actually wants to throw it away anyway…which Anya and Octavia probably anticipated, too. Jesus fuck. She’s going to have to shove it into her luggage instead, deep and hidden away. She opens her clutch to scoop out her luggage keys, which she’s an idiot and mixed in with her other keys, and fuck…she's going to kill them. She is definitely going to kill them.

 

“Lexa?”

 

She stills, holding the keys tightly enough they dig into her palms and leave tiny half-crescents as she looks up to meet Clarke’s eyes again, another rush of warmth rolling through her as she meets them. Unlike the first time she met Clarke, this Clarke is more dressed up. Golden curls hang in waves and vivid blue eyes are ringed with smokey liner. Lexa's not sure she can handle this.

 

“What?” says Clarke in amusement.

 

“Oh—it’s, uh.” Lexa coughs, awkwardly shifting in her seat. The heat creeping up the back of her neck to flush her face rivals that of the heat bubbling in her stomach. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

 

Clarke looks, if anything, even more amused; she glances curiously between the bag and Lexa. “What is it?”

 

Lexa lunges forward when Clarke reaches over, managing to snatch her bag away just in time. Clarke gives an incredulous laugh.

 

“Lexa, you’re making me think you’ve got a bomb in there or something.”

 

 _“Clarke!”_ admonishes Lexa in a pleading whisper, clutching the bag to her chest and glancing around, but no one seems to have noticed. The woman sitting a few chairs away idly scratches her nose as she turns the page of her book. “You shouldn’t ever say the b-word in an airport. You’re going to get us arrested.”

 

Clarke shrugs. “I like handcuffs.” Her expression freezes on her face a second later, around the time Lexa is crossing her legs again to clench her thighs tightly together. Clarke’s cheeks tint pink, but she doesn’t take it back. Lexa has to admire the way she owns it, actually. “Just saying.”

 

“Well I don’t,” says Lexa stoutly, though she swallows thickly as divine images spring forth unbidden in her mind, visions of Clarke spread out before her, arms cuffed to the bed posts, hips craning—

 

No, that’s not at all helpful.

 

“Come on, just let me see. It’s something creepy, isn’t it? Or dirty. It’s a dildo, isn’t it?” She laughs at her joke. It quickly fades when she realizes Lexa isn’t joining in and is, in fact, blushing furiously. Clarke’s eyes widen. “Wait, seriously?” She lunges forward and grabs the bag out of Lexa’s hands before she can lift it out of reach. Lexa protests and fumbles to grab it back but Clarke manages to open it and shove the gift tissue aside, peering down into the bag’s contents and stilling at what she sees.

 

“Oh my God, Clarke, shut it!” pleads Lexa.

 

After another long pause, Clarke looks up at her, and Lexa’s breath hitches in her throat. Clarke’s lips are parted and her brows are still raised, but her eyes have darkened considerably. The way she’s looking at her… Lexa’s heart kickstarts again, her face so hot she’s probably two seconds away from her ears melting off.

 

Clarke swallows after a moment, shaking her head a little as though to clear it as she hastily shoves the gift paper back inside the bag and pushes it back into Lexa’s hands. “Here. Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” says Lexa weakly, bowing her head as she quickly resumes looking through her keys again. Clarke is silent, and for a long moment there’s only the quiet tinkling of the keys.

 

“Actually, I’m not really all that sorry.”

 

The words are so unexpected Lexa drops her keys again. They clatter to the floor as she looks back up at Clarke. “What?”

 

Clarke lifts one shoulder in a half shrug as she reclines back in her chair. She’d look completely at ease if it weren’t for the shade of her eyes and the tension in her neck. “It’s a good brand, that leather harness. Your friend has good taste.”

 

“You’re…ah…familiar with it?” croaks Lexa.

 

Clarke glances at her. It’s hardly a second, but the intensity in those eyes has Lexa’s knees growing weak; it’s a good thing she’s already sitting down. “Yes. I actually had an ex-girlfriend who was pretty partial to that brand.”

 

Silence stretches out as they both simply sit there, looking anywhere but at each other. Lexa presses her thighs together tightly, trying her best to ignore the heat swirling in her stomach but failing miserably considering how dazed she is with this new information. The fact that Clarke knows that’s a strap on and is familiar with it…has perhaps worn once before, or had it used on her, or both…had an ex girlfriend, so she’s definitely into girls…

 

She’s still sneaking curious glances at Lexa, and Lexa suddenly realizes what Clarke might be looking for.

 

“Me too.”

 

“What?”

 

“I mean.” Lexa swallows, though she’s quite sure she’d never be able to get rid of the lump in her throat. “I’m—I’ve never used this specific brand, but I’m familiar with the…concept. With my ex girlfriend too. I mean. She was familiar. We were familiar together.”

 

_The biggest useless lesbian._

 

Well, whatever. It seemed to have gotten the job done, because Clarke is looking at her again, and this time she isn’t looking away. Lexa’s gaze drifts down to Clarke’s lips, watching the pink tongue dart out to wet them.

 

“I can show you,” offers Clarke after a moment. She licks her lips again, shrugs. “I mean, if you want.”

 

“Show me what?”

 

“I can give you a demonstration. Or you can give me one. You know.” She tilts her head, surveying her with hooded eyes. “Whatever you’re into.”

 

Lexa opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Clarke just keeps looking at her. The air is thick, heavy, and Lexa is aching. She barely manages to nod and Clarke’s eyes only grow darker, but before anything more can be said, the intercom is announcing their next instructions: the arrival of a shuttle to take them to their hotel destination.

 

Breaking eye contact with Clarke enables Lexa to breathe again, which enables her to think again. She fumbles through her keys once more, hurrying as everyone around them rises and begins heading for the gates toward the distant elevators. She stills, nearly swallowing her tongue, when someone sits in the seat next to her and reaches over, fingers brushing her own as the keys are taken from her. Clarke filters through them, easily picking out the smaller key that fits into Lexa’s luggage. Lexa remains quiet and still as Clarke bends down herself to unlock Lexa’s suitcase, take the bag and push it inside, zipping and locking it back up. She straights and drops the keys in Lexa’s hand, lingering over her—thumb grazing Lexa’s.

 

“Hotel?” asks Clarke, voice uncertain. Lexa hears the double meaning.

 

Her gaze flits from blue eyes to pink lips; she doesn’t pretend not to notice Clarke’s gaze doing the same.

 

Lexa nods.

 

 

\\\

 

 

The journey takes forever. That is not an understatement.

 

First they’re crammed into the elevators with a dozen other people and their luggage. The soft warmth of Clarke’s breasts is pressed against Lexa’s arm. She can’t breathe. They’re standing so close, close enough blonde hair is tickling Lexa’s shoulder. All she wants to do is kiss her, but she knows she won’t be able to stop there if she does.

 

Next sitting closely together on the shuttle, thigh to thigh, knee to knee, ankle to ankle. Their hands are tightly gripping the handles of their luggage and they can’t stop glancing at each other. Lexa presses her thighs together, and Clarke does the same beside her.

 

When they reach the first hotel, Clarke ignores the group of California passengers she should be getting off with. She searches Lexa’s expression and whatever she must find seems to satisfy her, because she reaches down to where Lexa’s spare hand clutches the bench they sit on and put her hand over Lexa’s and squeezes, her thumb drifting, sweeping over her bones, and Lexa has a sneaking suspicion Clarke may have been more in tune to the effect her hand-stroking had on Lexa during that flight so many months ago than she’d let on. When they reach the next hotel, she steps off with Lexa.

 

Lexa stumbles a bit when the attendant asks if they’re sharing a room, noticing how closely they stand together. He asks whether they need a single or a double and Clarke steps in and says single; to anyone else, her voice may sound steady, but Lexa can hear the difference, can tell it’s dropped an octave and has an even more distinguishable rasp to it. If there were any room at all left for doubt as to what awaits her when they reach their room, it’s gone now. Lexa’s heart bangs on irregularly in her chest and she’s so lost in the sensation of Clarke’s hand slipping in her own that she scarcely notices the attendant handing Clarke their room keys and Clarke tugging her up onto the elevator.

 

“Not yet,” says Clarke, voice an even lower timbre, when Lexa leans toward her. She watches Lexa with eyes so dark in the dim lighting that they appear more black than blue. “I won’t be able to stop if you…”

 

But she loses her control when they reach the door, and it appears Clarke does too. One second they’re fumbling to swipe the keycard and the next their mouths are fused together, and fuck, it’s everything Lexa imagined and more. Clarke’s mouth is warm and slick against hers, and she’s all tongue and bite that’s so unlike anyone she’s ever kissed before. She’s rough but smooth, wild but controlled—she knows what she’s doing. Lexa’s helpless to do much more than let Clarke take the lead, slamming her back against the wall, kissing desperately as they slide toward the door; Lexa flails behind her for the handle and it takes Clarke reaching forward and slapping the handle down for them to manage to get it open.

 

They crash through the door, luggage and keycards and phones thrown aside. Nimble fingers work fast down the length of Clarke’s coat, sweeping it open and then shoving it down her shoulders before moving on to her shirt. She has it pulled over Clarke’s head in a second, leaving her clad only in a simple lace bra that matches the blue of her eyes and has Lexa’s head spinning so hard she has to reach behind her to brace herself on the desk. Clarke takes advantage and surges forward, thigh slotting between Lexa’s as she straddles one of Lexa’s. Lexa cups those breasts in her hands immediately, wasting no time in unclasping her bra so she can feel the warm weight of full, heavy breasts in her palms. Clarke’s back arches as Lexa sweeps her thumbs over her nipples, circling around before gently pinching and plucking them into hardened buds.

 

“Suck,” gasps Clarke, arching and pushing herself further into Lexa’s hands, “Please. Want to feel your tongue—“

 

Lexa acquiesces, growing wetter by the second as she closes her lips over a nipple and gently lathes it with her tongue, slow until she scrapes her teeth and sucks it into her mouth.

 

“Fuck. _Fuck.”_

 

The other continues hardening under a practiced thumb, flesh squeezed in Lexa’s hand before she releases it to move down and tug at the button of Clarke’s jeans. Her breath catches again as Clarke tightens her grip on her hair in encouragement; she bites down hard on her nipple, aching at the keening moan Clarke gives in response.

 

“Fuck, Lexa.”

 

As if she isn’t already wet enough, her name leaving Clarke’s lips like that—husky and raspy and positively desperate—has her soaking her panties. She absently rolls her hips, grinding her clothed clit against Clarke’s thigh as she continues sucking one breast and unbuttoning Clarke’s pants down with the other so she can slip a hand inside, and feel the warm expanse of Clarke’s strong thighs, the back of her knuckles drifting across cotton so soaked it leaves her hand wet. God, she can smell her, musky and sharp, mouthwatering if her mouth weren’t so dry at the thought of tasting her, of sinking into her—

 

“Can I eat you out?” she asks, voice low and hoarse. The words hardly leave her lips before Clarke is frantically nodding, hands on Lexa’s shoulders to push her down.

 

Lexa stands up instead, shrugging off her sweater. Clarke watches with eyes so dark they’re nearly black, biting her lip, as Lexa shreds the rest of her clothes until she’s left in her bra and underwear and too impatient to peel them off; she eases Clarke back onto the perfectly made bed and crawls on after her, swallowing Clarke’s groan as she presses the hard jut of her muscled thigh against Clarke’s core.

 

“God, go down on me, please. You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about your mouth…”

 

So Clarke’s a talker. Lexa isn’t surprised. It enhances the heat currently blistering its way through her body; she’s always been a fan of talkers. There’s something beyond hot about causing filthy utterances to be like prayers, and Clarke is absolutely babbling as Lexa drops kisses to her body as she makes her way down it. A brush of her lips on her sternum, a scrape of teeth along the indention of ribs, the sting of a bite to hip bones, and Clarke’s every other word is a curse and a supplication all wrapped up in one.

 

Lexa slips her hand beneath Clarke’s ass and palms the supple flesh as she slowly inhales, breathing in the scent of her arousal. Her own clit throbs as she leans in and presses a gentle kiss right where she wants to, a molten core of heat, and Clarke arches up into her, hips grinding to seek out friction. Lexa lifts her hands up, gently curves her hands over Clarke’s thighs, and keeps her spread out as she explores with tongue and teeth and lips, not so much teasing as simply taking her time, tongue teasing down her slit before probing into the heat pooling at her entrance. Clarke is trembling beneath her, breaths heavy and shallow, and Lexa takes pity, crowding further in, the intense ache in her stomach at hearing Clarke’s choked noises spreading fire through her body, all the way to the fingertips she digs into thick thighs.

 

She still takes her time, licking into her softly, paying attention to the subtle tells of Clarke’s body, the changes in her breathing depending on where and how she moves her tongue. She avoids direct contact on her clit, not at all keen to speed this along any more than she has to, and it’s not until Clarke’s panting and ragged before her, hands weaving in her hair and begging bubbling from her lips that she finally gives in.

 

She tongues her clit, licking soft circles before lapping gently at it. Clarke is already shuddering beneath her, already close, abdominal muscles clenching and unclenching, chest heaving one minute and still the next as she holds her breath, hands flexing in Lexa’s hair, back slowly bowing. Lexa gradually ups the pace until she’s battering the hard, swollen bundle of nerves with her tongue and Clarke is coming apart beneath her.

 

She practically sings her name as she comes, fisting Lexa’s hair so tightly it would hurt if it weren’t for the near-blinding desire that’s pumping through Lexa’s body and has her nearly coming herself just watching Clarke, the way her mouth drops open and her breasts bounce as her body judders as the orgasm sweeps through her and soaks Lexa’s chin. She nuzzles down deeper into it, Clarke jolting with a gasp as Lexa’s nose drifts across her still-throbbing clit before the gasp cuts off into a cry as Lexa fills her with her tongue as best she can. The muscles around her entrance are still fluttering, cum still pulsating out of her, but it takes no time at all before Lexa is building her up again, closing her eyes as Clarke coats her face as she buries her tongue as deeply as it can go. She would have already reached down to touch herself by now, she’s so turned on it hurts, if she didn’t have her arms hooked around Clarke’s thighs, pinning them down spread open wide since they keep trying to shudder shut as Clarke moans through her next orgasm. Lexa can’t breathe as she presses her face in, half deliriously wishing she could be swallowed whole, suffocate, because, fuck…what a way to go.

 

“God. Oh, my God,” pants Clarke some time later when the both return to the world, Clarke still shaking and Lexa’s ears ringing. “Jesus fuck. That was even better than I imagined it would be. Fuck.”

 

Lexa presses a soft kiss to her mound, breathing in deeply. She smells so good, musky and sharp. “Have you imagined it often?”

 

“I’ve wanted this since the moment I met you.”

 

Lexa props herself up onto one elbow as she absently strokes her hand up Clarke’s leg, her smile growing. “You had a boyfriend.”

 

“I still had eyes, Lexa. You’re fucking hot.”

 

“So are you.” Her hand inches up her thigh, gravitating higher.

 

Clarke’s breath catches and her legs fall open again, hips canting apparently without thought; Lexa listens and loftily slides a finger inside her, licking her lips at the stifled sounds Clarke makes. “God. And then…and then earlier today…the minute I saw you in the airport. Those fucking…mmm, those fucking tights you were wearing. You can see _everything_ in those tights.”

 

Lexa slides in deep before pulling out, adding a second and pushing in again. She shifts on the bed when the angle has her wrist straining, mouth dry at the sensation of Clarke clenching tight around her fingers. Lexa watches her for a moment, entranced by everything about her; how her lips move and part, how her chest heaves, how her hips jerk and shudder. The various marks sucked into her skin, her pebbled nipples, the rosy flush and thin layer of sweat casting sheen on her perfect body. “You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

 

“Mmm…” Clarke’s insistent hands shift from Lexa’s hair to cup her face, gently urging her up. Lexa remains inside her as she rises onto her knees and leans over, still slowly pumping inside her as she meets Clarke’s lips in a languid, sloppy kiss. “Sweet-talker.”

 

A corner of Lexa’s lips rise in a crooked smirk that she presses to the corner of Clarke’s mouth. “You’re the talker.”

 

“Shut up. Can’t help it if you…” She moans again, losing her train of thought when Lexa grazes the pad of her thumb across her swollen clit. “Oh my God.”

 

“It’s Lexa, actually.”

 

“Talker.”

 

“You are, yes.”

 

“You love it, don’t even act like you don’t. Let’s see.”

 

Lexa’s entirely unprepared for Clarke lunging up and flipping them around, Lexa huffing in surprise as she’s shoved onto her back on the bed. Clarke throws a leg over her waist, straddling her and pinning her wrists up above her head all in one go. Lexa bucks against her on instinct, breath catching as Clarke’s weight pins her down. She gets temporarily distracted with the ridiculously perfect breasts hanging above her face, not even registering Clarke slipping a hand between her legs.

 

“That’s what I thought,” breathes Clarke, satisfaction sparking in the hazy blue eyes as she nudges Lexa’s panties aside to drag a finger through wet folds. Lexa arches beneath her, biting her lip to muffle her moan. “You’re so wet for me. I’m going to make you come now, and we’ll see who the talker is.”

 

Lexa swallows, spots of light dancing behind the eyes she squeezes shut as she absorbs the bone-melting pleasure of Clarke’s finger dipping inside her once, twice, then sliding all the way in, stroking her inner walls before pulling out and drifting up her, over her clit, before disappearing entirely. Lexa’s eyes snap open, brow furrowing. Deep blue eyes look at back at her, kiss-swollen lip tucked beneath Clarke’s teeth as she watches her closely. “Tell me, Lexa.”

 

Lexa looks up at her, sees the tilt of Clarke’s head, the arch of her brows, and reads the challenge as plain as day.

 

“Whom.”

 

Clarke stills, amusement sparkling in her incredulous smiles. “What?”

 

“You’ll see _whom_ the talker is, Clarke.”

 

“Oh my God.” She laughs quietly under her breath as she shimmies down Lexa’s body, mouth drifting over the contours of her abdominal muscles, shifting down, down, down, peeling the panties off her legs. “You’re insufferable. I’m going to make you scream for that one.”

 

“Why don’t you put your money where your mouth—“ The rest of her words are cut off in a strangled yelp as a warm, wet mouth closes over her.

 

Her stomach is already tightening, the pull in her body constricting as Clarke explores her, tongue swirling over Lexa’s clit. The pleasure is white-hot and overwhelming; Lexa whimpers with it, clenching around nothing as Clarke sucks her clit into her mouth and rolls her tongue against it.

 

“Fuck, fuck, _Clarke…”_

 

She’s not quite delirious enough to miss the curl of Clarke’s mouth into a smirk against her, and playfully swats the top of her head. Her heart is the next thing to tremble, when Clarke reaches up to grab her hand and then doesn’t let go, entwining their fingers and holding her against the sheets. Her other hand disappears from where it had been gripping her thigh and reappears a moment later, a fingertip teasing the wetness pooling at Lexa’s entrance. All it takes is a twitch of Lexa’s hips and Clarke is inside her, an immediate two fingers that fill Lexa up in the loveliest of ways.

                                                                                                    

Clarke shifts her tongue when Lexa’s tightening before her, switches her focus to her labia instead before licking up the wetness that coats her lips, and all Lexa can do is lay there with her hips rolling to meet the slow, punishing rhythm of Clarke’s thrusting into her, stroking so deeply inside her Lexa swears she can feel the reverberation in her chest. The orgasm swelling inside her is too big, too overwhelming; her clit throbs painfully and she _needs_ Clarke _there_ , and judging by the deliberate way Clarke’s licking anywhere _but_ there, she’s determined to make her ask for it.

 

And well, the only thing that can overpower Lexa’s stubborn streak is a pretty girl with a wicked tongue.

 

“Please. Clarke, please…”

 

That’s all it takes; she’s apparently taking pity on her, moving up at once. Her mouth closes over her clit and she ups her pace, pushing deep inside her. Another rub, another suck, another thrust, and Lexa’s gone, crying out as her toes curl, squeezing Clarke’s hand while her other helplessly grasps at the sheets. She melts into the mattress, her heart thrashing, limbs like jelly.

 

But Clarke isn’t done yet.

 

“Fuck, you’re so hot. You came so beautifully for me, Lexa…think you can do it again? I bet you can. Come on, let’s see if you can come for me again, pretty girl…spread your legs wider for me…fuck, yeah, just like that. So hot, fuck.” Clarke’s next words are lost in a mumbled mess hot against Lexa’s skin as she sinks three fingers in her, hooking them against her front wall. She doesn’t start slow this time. Lexa’s hips jog to keep pace, her back arching and a cry ripping from her throat when Clarke fixes her lips on her clit again, tongue battering. It feels like she trips into her next orgasm, brighter and sharper than the last, almost painful as she convulses. Clarke eases up when Lexa weakly paws at her head, exhaling a shaky breath before sucking in another.

 

“Holy _shit.”_

“Mmm. I could eat your pussy all day, and you have no idea how long I was thinking about it today. How you taste, how you’d smell, how you’d sound. You’re perfect.”

 

Clarke has a dirty mouth, which she immediately puts to use once more, diving in again and humming against her in satisfaction when Lexa’s hips buck, her muscles clamping around the two fingers Clarke slides deep back inside with a quiet slurp. She wonders how long it will take Clarke to remember the strap on still buried in her suitcase.

 

Clarke fucks her leisurely, rising to pull Lexa up so she can peel off her bra; bare breasts press together, warm and soft and capped with stiff nipples, and kisses her again, deep and messy and obscene, as Lexa reaches down to slide her hands between Clarke’s legs. When they trip through their next orgasms it’s with their lips parted, convulsing as they breathe in one another’s hot breath in what little space exists between them. Lexa’s already lost of how many orgasms she’s had, and she can’t help but to marvel—she’s usually feeling on the brink of death by a third orgasm. Yet here she’s still wet and throbbing and ready for more. Clarke seems to share the same sentiment.

 

Two orgasms later and Clarke has apparently lost her patience.

 

“You gonna fuck me with that toy or what?”

  
Lexa swallows again and doesn’t waste any time. She pulls the bag out and slides the toy on after connecting it to the harness. After a bit of minor adjustment, she walks back to the bed, silicone proudly jutting from her hips, and kneels before Clarke, who watches her with wide, dark eyes.

 

“Get it wet for me first,” she whispers, hand cradling the back of Clarke’s head to guide her forward, and the sight of Clarke’s pretty pink lips closing around the smooth purple tip of the dildo is enough to nearly have her eyes rolling back in her head.

 

One minute she’s splitting pale thighs and stepping between them, lining the tip of the toy up to Clarke’s sex, and trails the tip along a slippery slit. The next she’s steadily pumping in and out, one hand still cupped over Clarke’s mouth, muffling her harsh pants, and the other tightly gripping her hips, guiding their rolls to time with her thrusts. She fucks her at a torturously slow pace, pulling nearly all the way out before sliding in deep again until she bottoms out and has to bite back a moan as the harness presses against her clit.

 

All too soon, Clarke is close—too close. Lexa slows down, brushing a kiss across Clarke’s lips before urging her around onto her front. Lexa loses her breath at the sight that awaits her, Clarke’s ass in the air, her legs spread, cunt dripping, streaks of cum across the insides of her thighs…Fuck, she’d be the death of her.

 

She drags her hands down her back, over the supple flesh of her ass, lower, higher, notes the way Clarke moves her hips insistently, canting as though urging her movement elsewhere. Lexa holds her breath as she watches her curiously, carefully, as she lets her fingertip drift over Clarke’s ass again, watching the way she bows up and moans.

 

“Fuck, you’re into that, aren’t you?”

 

“I’m—uh,” Clarke shudders, spreads her legs wider and tilts her hips back as Lexa’s touch drifts over her again. “I’m guessing you’re—God—a fan yourself?”

 

Lexa licks her lips and nods slowly, clit throbbing as she watches Clarke shake beneath her. “Do you want me to get some lube? We can—“

 

“You have some?”

 

“No, but I could go buy—“

 

“Later,” says Clarke, voice husky and low. “Just—I want you inside me right now. Make me come again.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” murmurs Lexa, rising up onto her knees again and lining the toy up with Clarke’s opening.

 

She pushes inside slowly, reaching forward to sweep Clarke’s hair off her neck so she can slide her hands there, fingers briefly wrapped around her throat, feeling the vibration of her moan against them, before shifting down, drifting over hard nipples and the warm, sweaty curve of her stomach, down to rub lightly at her clit. She bites her lip as she pulls one hand around and gently trails it down the curve of Clarke’s ass, watching the way she reacts when she touches her, pumping the toy harder, faster, relishing the wet, sloppy sounds.

 

When she comes, it’s so hard she propels forward, face planting the pillows.

 

“You’re sexy,” mumbles Lexa, lips pressing to the small of Clarke’s back. She tests her again, slowly rocking into her, but Clarke shudders and reaches back to still her. “Wanna fuck you again.”

 

“I want you,” breathes Clarke, voice muffled slightly in her pillow.

 

Lexa rocks again, kissing Clarke when she groans. “You have me.”

 

“I want you on my face. Come up here. Ride my tongue.” Lexa stills against her, breathless at the thought. “Come on, you want to ride my face? Get up here and do it…”

 

She didn’t have to tell her twice. Lexa splits her legs over Clarke’s head, grabbing hold of the headboard as she rolls her hips. Her next orgasm builds along with the creeping of black toward the center of her vision again, but she’s beyond rational thought as she rides her face, Clarke’s tongue swirling over her, pushing deep inside. She doesn’t remember falling back onto the bed when she comes, but she opens her eyes and here she is.

 

They collapse, soaked in sweat and cum, exhausted and finally sated—or at least, almost. Lexa’s fairly sure Clarke is so hot she would just never be dry again, that the fact that she has these memories means she’s ~~cursed~~ blessed to walk around wet forever after this. There’s still that deep stirring in her lower stomach, the ache of want and heat, she wants to come again even after so many orgasms she lost count, but her pussy is swollen and nearly numb at this point, and her limbs feels like jelly, and she would probably black out again even if they did manage to find the strength to continue.

 

“It’s three in the morning,” she pants when she eyes the clock. “Clarke, wait, don’t fall asleep yet, let me set an alarm…your flight was moved to six, right? Clarke?”

 

“Yeah, yeah…six…”

 

“Okay. I’ve got it set to…Clarke?”

 

Clarke is already snoring beside her.

  
Shaking her head and smiling, Lexa burrows in close, wrapping Clarke up in her arms and pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead. She doesn’t even have time to panic about this, about the fact that she knows next to nothing about Clarke but she’s already addicted to her, to this, to all of this.

 

She drifts to sleep with sweet-smelling blonde hair just under her nose.

 

 

\\\

 

When her alarm brings her tumbling out of what was possibly the deepest sleep she’s ever experienced, Lexa wakes with memories aching in her body and tingling on her lips. Her body hurts in the best possible way, but her heart sinks the moment she notices the still silence of the room, the cold sheets next to her, the absence of luggage and clothes that means Clarke is not here. It’s a little better a minute later when she remembers Clarke had an earlier flight—and that there’s a small note folded next to her phone on the nightstand. A smile grows as she reaches for it, and blows wide when she sees Clarke's number scribbled down on it next to a lipstick-stain kiss mark (when she looks in the mirror, she finds a similar one on her forehead).

 

Oh my God.

 

Thus commences Lexa’s next moment of gay panic, or in Anya’s words, her big useless lesbian freak out. It takes up the better part of the day. She doesn’t particularly want to shower and clean off the scent of Clarke, but she’s fairly certain her ass cheeks are glued together with cum at this point, so she reluctantly steps under the spray and shivers under the onslaught of memories; if she closes her eyes, it’s almost as if she can feel Clarke’s touch even now, ghosting across her skin, tracing the various marks she’d left on her…

 

She spends the day fretting over what to say to Clarke. She chews her nails as she orders a Lyft and stares down at the contact in her phone, she hovers over it as she inhales a chicken wrap at the airport while waiting on her flight, she starts and stops a dozen messages as she sits waiting to board, uncomfortably aware she’s only a few rows away from where she and Clarke had sat yesterday. It’s been five hours since she woke—over seven since Clarke woke and left. Seven hours of waiting for a text…should she go ahead and text her now? Is seven hours too soon? It feels too long. But is that bad? Is she being too eager? She doesn’t want to scare Clarke off. What exactly is the protocol for texting a girl you’ve only met twice before, both of which were at airports, and whom you hooked up with one of those times? Not at the airport itself, but close enough. Airports are dirty anyway.

 

She blows out a breath as she stares at the little letters on her screen comprising Clarke’s name. Lexa might be thinking with her clit right now, but she might be in love.

 

It’s crazy. She doesn’t even know Clarke’s last name, and they live thousands of miles apart. But this feels right, too. Lexa has had hookups before, but none like this. Last night was fucking mind-blowing. Clarke may even feel the same way…wasn’t it worth the risk?

 

Swallowing hard and ignoring the way her heart pounds and her hands tremble slightly, she types out a message. Just keep it casual and simple, that’s the ticket. Polite, nonchalant. Don’t focus on the fact that you know what she tastes like, what she sounds like when you’re three fingers deep and sucking her nipples, what she feels like when her cunt is suffocating your face.

 

Lexa swallows thickly again. Just keep it simple.

 

_“Hello Clarke. This is Lexa. How was your flight?”_

 

Her heart still hammers in her chest after she hits send. She clutches her phone tightly and stares down at it for the next fifteen minutes, forcing herself to relax after her hands start to ache. Jesus, it’s not like she’s holding a bomb (She glances around furtively; honestly, even _thinking_ the b-word in an airport could be dangerous, you never know). A watched phone never dings, as the saying goes—something like that.

 

She did her part. She kept it casual and light. Clarke was only flying to California, so she should be home by now, but she’s probably busy. Lexa turns her phone over, crosses her legs and has hardly reclined back in her chair when it dings and lights up. She unlocks it and takes one look at it, and that one look is enough to cause her to make a choking noise loudly enough that those nearest her look at her in concern, as she slams her feet down on the floor and lurches over, tucking her phone securely into her lap to hide it from view.

 

Oh my fucking God.

 

Casual and light. This is not casual and light. This is a nude. This is a nude photo. She asked Clarke how her flight went and Clarke sent her a fucking _nude._

 

And God, Lexa is not complaining, no, not at all—but she nearly has a heart attack, and the people sitting nearest her are still frowning as she hastily seizes all her things and drags them with her into the nearest bathroom. There only free stall is small and cramped but she still crowds into it and holds her breath as she opens her phone up again and taps on the picture. Holy _shit._

 

It’s only been a matter of hours since she had those breasts in her hands, her mouth, but memories did not do them justice. God, they’re gorgeous and Lexa is practically drooling now. Her body aches again, heat flushing straight to her core as she gazes at a topless Clarke, leaning into the picture, standing before a mirror attached to a dresser; looks like she’s in a bedroom. There’s other stuff in the picture, a photo frame on the dresser, maybe, but Lexa doesn’t notice. All she can see are those full, heavy breasts. After a second she notices there are splotches marring the creamy skin, red and blue and purple… bite marks, hickeys…fuck. Lexa wants her mouth on them again. She stares without seeing, eyes glazing over as she’s overwhelmed with the finer details of last night, standing still long enough that her phone goes inactive and black.

 

She jumps when her phone dings again, finger trembling as she swipes the screen and opens the next message Clarke has sent. Oh God.

 

_“The amount of orgasms you gave me last night and I’m still wet and wanting you”_

 

Followed by another photo, this time of Clarke’s lower body, a pair of silky red panties she definitely hadn’t been wearing yesterday, and her hand holding them aside, a graceful arch to her wrist as her middle finger slips between wet lips—

 

“Oh my God,” whispers Lexa, fumbling as it dings again, and then her life ends.

 

Her life ends because she’s a big gay mess, she’s a big gay mess who can’t keep hold of her phone when a literal goddess is sending her nudes and she _fucking drops her phone in the toilet._

Her gasp is drowned amidst the roar of the toilet’s automatic flush, and Lexa is on her knees with her entire arm plunged into the bowl before she can so much as thing about what she’s doing. Her whimper of disgust is quickly bit off into a determined growl as she holds onto her phone with her thumb and forefinger, refusing to release even as the water surges over her wrist and splashes up her neck. When it finally finishes flushing, she fishes it out and stands up, hovering over the toilet and looking down at it, so horror-stricken she doesn’t even register that it’s last call the flight she’s supposed to be getting on.

 

Her phone is ruined. There’s no question about it, no amount of mythical white rice in a bowl that can cure it. She should have gotten the waterproof case like Anya insisted. She really is a useless lesbian.

 

 

\\\

 

 

“Let me get this straight. You missed your flight because you dropped your phone.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You dropped your phone in a toilet.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“At the airport.”

 

“At the airport, yes.”

 

“You dropped your phone in a toilet at the airport, because you received a nude photo from a stranger you hooked up with last night.”

 

“…yes.”

 

“What. The actual. Fuck.”

 

Lexa sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and screwing her eyes shut. “Listen, Anya, I don't need to hear it. I’m an idiot. I know. I’ve been stranded at an airport for sixteen hours now, not counting yesterday. The next flight isn’t until late tonight, and I have to be up for work at the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow. I don’t need to hear it.”

 

“You are the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

 

“I told you I don’t need—“

 

“To hear it, yeah, I respectfully disagree. You didn’t even miss your flight because you dropped your phone, you missed your flight because the minute you realized you lost said stranger’s number, you proceeded to flip the fuck out and go on a wild goose chase to find it.”

 

Lexa rubs the back of her neck, sighing again. She seems to do that a lot when Anya is involved. “All I did was go back to the hotel to…”

 

“To ask if they know Clarke’s last name, which they didn’t, because she bunked with you for the night for your torrid love affair. And I bet you looked through the trash to find the note she wrote her number on, too.”

 

“…so?”

 

“So! Tell me that’s the worst part.”

 

“I mean…I might have asked the airline if they could give me her name,” she mumbles.

 

“Oh my God, Lexa. You’re fifty shades of gay and I can’t be dealing with you right now. You’re going to miss the rehearsal and Octavia’s going to kick your ass, and I’m going to let her.”

 

Lexa scoffs. She listens to more threats and progressively ridiculous claims before finally ending the call with her sister and taking up her seat in the lobby again; she's kind of thinking by now it should have her name carved into it.

 

Her body’s feeling a wonderful kind of ache, but her heart feels like it's cracked, fissuring, breaking. She’s not exactly sure why losing the number of a stranger she hooked up with once feels as world-ending as breaking up with your high school sweetheart, but here she is. If she gets another chance, she’ll be better. Bolder. She won’t be a useless lesbian, she’ll make a move, she’ll take the chance. If she gets the opportunity, that is…if she ever sees Clarke again.

 

She has faith, though. Hope. Maybe one day, during another flight….

 

Maybe. Just maybe.

 

 

\\\

 

 

It’s been a busy three months since that crazy night in a hotel with an almost stranger when her flight was delayed. It was the best sex Clarke’s ever had in her life. Raven wouldn’t even let Clarke bring it up without accusing her of bragging.

 

She didn’t bring it up much anymore. It's a sore wound now, one she continuously rubs salt in every time she opens her sketchbook to take a peek of the sketch of Lexa sleeping she'd done quickly before she left for her flight.  
 

She tells herself perhaps something went wrong; maybe Lexa somehow lost her number. But the truth of the matter is that Clarke had responded with nudes to a perfectly polite introduction; maybe that was too much. Maybe Lexa had decided it was fun, but it ended there. Maybe it meant more to Clarke than it did Lexa.

 

Maybe Clarke should stop thinking so hard about it. It’s been three months, after all, and an eventful three months at that. She moved to New York with Raven, both of them officially hired on to Polis Incorporated. They’d been given a leg up by Raven’s friendship with Octavia, a girl she’s known since high school, and by extension Octavia’s fiancé Lincoln, who is the cousin of one Anya Woods, the director of marketing at Polis Inc. Sometimes it really is all about who you know.

_Whom, says the snide little Lexa-sounding voice in her head._

 

Shut up.

 

“Let’s get this over with,” says Clarke gloomily, readjusting her updo as Raven slips on her shoes beside her and grabs her cane. “I’m sure it’ll be a disaster and Anya will find any excuse to snap at me. She hates me.”

 

“It’s our first work-party, Clarke, try to have a little enthusiasm.”

 

Clarke adopts a cheery, falsetto voice. “She hates me!”

 

“She doesn’t hate you,” chides Raven as she urges Clarke out of their apartment, locking the door behind them. “She’s just hard on you because she sees your potential.”

 

“She’s not hard on you,” says Clarke sourly.

 

“That’s because she wants to bang me.”

 

“She’s straight.”

 

“So she thinks. You know what they say about spaghetti.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes as she climbs into the car. “I swear to God if you use that saying again, we’re never having pasta ever again. Our home will be pasta-free, permanently.”

 

“Whoa, don’t take it so far, geez…”

 

The party’s already in full-swing by the time they arrive. It’s a company party and considering they’ve only been here full-time, excluding their training period, for a couple months, Clarke doesn’t really know anyone here. The same can’t be said for Raven, who has apparently already made friends in every department; she mingles with various groups while Clarke lingers near the water cooler, feeling every bit the cliché. She stiffens when Anya approaches her, and relaxes when Anya bypasses her, heading into her office instead. Clarke watches her out of the corners of her eyes, sipping at her water, still slightly suspicious Anya is plotting against her; she’s so hard on her all the time, calling her out in every meeting, challenging her at every turn, Clarke can’t help but think she’s got it out for her.

 

And then something happens that she never would have expected.

 

Anya grabs whatever she popped in there to grab—a phone charger, by the look of it—and Clarke sees the photo frame on her desk. She’d never paid attention to it before, but the light catches it and she can see the vivid green of the brunette standing beside Anya all the way from here. Lexa. That’s Lexa.

 

“Wait,” she gasps, stumbling forward as Anya emerges and goes to close the door behind her. “That’s—that's Lexa.”

 

Anya pauses, face immediately settling into a frown. “Yes…how do you know my sister?”

 

“Your—“ Clarke gapes at her like a fish out of water; she doesn’t even realize that she’s fisted her Styrofoam cup in her hand and her hand is soaked, along with the floor. “That’s your—you’re Lexa’s—“

 

Anya surveys her with a troubled expression. “How do you know…”

 

It’s like something out of a dream; Clarke’s gaze flickers to the right, to where the hallway ends and another begins, leading out into the office where everyone is mingling, and there she is.

 

Lexa is right there, she’s actually there, looking as stunning as the other two times Clarke saw her. She looks as distracted as the last two times, too, as though searching for someone, probably her sister. Clarke moves forward as though in slow motion, her heart thundering.

 

“Lexa.”

 

Lexa turns, eyes wide and shocked when they land on Clarke. She approaches cautiously, like she can't believe her eyes. “Clarke? I don’t…” She gapes as she spots Anya just behind Clarke, looking just as confounded. “Anya? What’s…” Her voice trails off and she shakes her head, unable to process it.

 

“Wait a minute.” Anya presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “You’re not telling me this is her?”

 

“Her?” asks Clarke faintly.

 

“The girl from the airport?”

 

Lexa nods, and Anya sighs, turning to glare at Clarke.

 

“If you fuck my sister here, you’re fired,” warns Anya. Of course not, Clarke wants to say, but no words leave her lips. She can’t do much more than stare at Lexa, heat tingling through her at the way Lexa stares back.

  
Anya leaves and Clarke and Lexa are left alone in the hallway, in the relative darkness and quiet, and Clarke remembers everything that’s happened. The first time she met Lexa, how scared and jumpy she was, how Clarke held her hand and everything seemed to fall into place. The second time she met Lexa, the warmth of her mouth and the curve of her back when she came. How she’s spent three months wondering why Lexa never bothered getting back to her; wondering if Lexa had second thoughts; wondering if—

 

Any further thoughts are interrupted when Lexa lurches forward, seizes Clarke by the wrist, and drags her into Anya’s office. Clarke has barely begun to speak when a mouth presses insistently onto hers, and she can do nothing but stand there with lights bursting behind her eyelids as she kisses the girl she is pretty positive she fell in love with the moment she laid eyes on her.

 

When they part, Lexa rests her forehead on Clarke’s and they simply breathe, breathless and heady and swaying where they stand, their hearts thrumming and hopeful like the wings of hummingbirds.

 

“I lost your number,” says Lexa immediately. “I dropped my phone in a toilet at the airport. You sent me a nude and I’m a useless lesbian and I dropped my phone. In a toilet. At the—“

 

“Airport, yeah, I got it.” Clarke smiles, relief breaking through her like waves; she tangles her fingers in the end of the sweater Lexa wears, the both of them shivering and shuffling ever closer when Clarke’s fingers brush the warm, flat expanse of Lexa’s stomach. “How are you here?” she marveled.

 

“How are you here?” asks Lexa, mouth curved in a smile wide with wonder. “Anya’s my sister. My cousin Lincoln is getting married this weekend so I flew down and Anya invited me here, I usually go every year. You work here?”

 

Clarke nods, breathing deeply simply for an excuse to breathe Lexa in. “I wondered where you went. Worried I scared you away.”

 

“Never. I—“ Lexa hesitates, lifting a hand to sweep through the blonde hair she’d accidentally pulled loose from their earlier kissing. “God. I want to kiss you again.”

 

“Then do it.”

 

She does so and Clarke loses herself in it again, savoring the feeling of being pressed up against the door, everything Lexa surrounding her…but there’s one problem. They’re in her new boss’s office, and Anya literally just threatened to fire her if she…if they…

 

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

 

A greedy mouth quickly swallows the whispered words, plump lips drifting across the jut of her jaw before trailing down, teeth scraping just beneath an ear. Clarke shudders.

 

“I just…we shouldn’t be doing this,” repeats Clarke, blinking dazedly when Lexa finally pulls back to look at her, and oh, God—Lexa’s cheeks are lovely and flushed, her pupils blown so only slivers of vivid green iris could be seen, and her lips are already swollen from the friction. To say Lexa is beautiful would be the understatement of the century. But Lexa isn’t just beautiful.

 

She’s also the sister of Clarke's new boss who already doesn't like her and who is only just down the hall, and eventually going to notice her sister’s absence amidst all the other partygoers.

 

“Do you really want to stop?” asks Lexa, and the solemnness of her gaze tells Clarke that if she says yes, they’ll stop, no questions asked.

 

“I…” Blue eyes shift down to full lips that curve under her gaze. “No, I don’t. But don’t you? Won’t you be in some kind of trouble too?”

 

Lexa snorts before leaning forward and capturing her mouth in another kiss that has Clarke’s head spinning. “Clarke, we aren’t children. Anya’s not going to ground me and send me to my room. But…I would love to take _you_ to _my_ room.”

 

“But she’s my boss,” Clarke whimpers, and she hates that it’s not because of the frightening implications of that statement, but because Lexa is nibbling on her ear and it’s _doing_ things to her, “If she finds out, she’s going to fire me and I’m going to be kicked out of my apartment because I can’t make rent and I’ll have to live under a bridge.”

 

“ _If_ she finds out,” Lexa says. “And she’s not going to, because neither of us are going to go announce to her that I’m going to fuck you right here, right now. Right?”

 

“Well, no, of course not, I’m sure as hell not going to mention—fuck, oh God, your tongue—“ babbles Clarke, dropping her head back against the door with a quiet thud. Her heart pounds, pounds, pounds as Lexa bites down over her collarbone before shifting, her tongue dipping down into the hollow of her throat where her pulse beats wildly.

 

“You want it somewhere else?”

 

Lexa chuckles at Clarke’s answering groan, bringing new warmth to creep up the back of Clarke’s neck and flush her face. Sure, she’s a little tipsy, but she’s never the flustered one. In fact, she’s usually the one taking charge—probably the reason she keeps clenching her hands into fists, restless being pushed up against the door and uable to so much as squirm as Lexa presses into her, narrow hips pinning Clarke’s back every time they jerk and strain. But that isn’t the only reason she was flustered. It's because this is _Lexa_ , and even though Clarke spent months tip-toing around the undeniable fact that she's helplessly in love with someone who's essentially a stranger, they shouldn't be doing this now. But—well, honestly, if they stop, Clarke’s probably going to combust and die, and a death on the premises would certainly inconvenience Anya far more than discovering her employee fucking her sister in her office.

  
So she'd rather just be honest.

“I’ve missed you.”

 

Lexa stills, softens, lifting her head to place the softest of kisses just behind Clarke’s ear. “I missed you too. I’m sorry, again.”

 

“I told you you have nothing to be sorry for. Again. Now how about _you_ put _your_ money where your mouth is—“

 

Lexa’s still grinning against her when she crowds in close, hand slipping inside her jeans. The grin slips off when she cups her, feels how absolutely soaked she already is.

 

“God. I really missed this, too.”

 

“Talker.”

 

Lexa laughs.

 

There’s shirts being untucked, pants being unbuttoned. Lexa’s fondly reacquainting herself with Clarke’s breasts, leaving them open and exposed above Clarke’s blouse as she pushes her fingers inside her, a thumb tripping up against her clit.

 

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time.

 

“ _Fuck,_ Lexa, _yes_ , right _there.”_

 

Lexa presses her up against the side of the wall, open-mouthed kisses lathing the marble column of Clarke’s neck as she throws her head back, hips grinding to find a rhythm.

 

“Oh, fuck,” gasps Clarke, thighs trembling as Lexa drives two fingers deeper inside her. "Fuck. Fu—“

 

Clarke is literally being flung off the peak and sailing straight into her orgasm when the door at the other end of the office is suddenly opened, light spilling into the room.

 

“Oh, ew, gross, no! Lexa! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! And you! Clarke, you’re fired.”

 

“Shut up, Anya, no she’s not.”

“I’m going to kill you both.”

 

The door snaps shut again and Clarke is still coming down from her high, body still twitching with little convulsions. Her arms are limp and weak but she still wraps them around Lexa’s neck, clinging onto her as she slowly withdraws her fingers from the wet heat that clings to them.

 

“Please come to my hotel tonight. You have no idea how many things I want to do to you,” murmurs, Lexa, nose nudging Clarke’s as she angles in for another soft kiss.

 

“Oh, I have some idea.” Clarke hums, returning the kiss for a moment.

 

“We’d better get out of here,” says Lexa apologetically.

 

“I’ll make it up to you tonight,” Clarke promises her. A corner of her lips tugs up. “I still owe you for giving up that aisle seat, you know.”

 

Lexa gives her a crooked grin, helping her adjust her clothing. “Oh, I know.”

 

\\\

 

The rest of the party progresses so perfectly Clarke half fears she’s in a dream. It’s not, she knows it’s not when she pinches herself—and when Lexa pinches her ass whenever she goes to get them drinks. They aren’t drinking much; they want to be sober when they return to Lexa’s hotel. The same can’t be said for the rest of the partygoers, Clarke’s new coworkers; most of them are fast on the way to getting trashed. Even Anya herself is—Clarke relaxes around her, just a little, after she catches her making out with Raven in the supply closet near the elevators. She spots them sneaking off to Anya’s office later and looks forward to the moment she can tell Lexa about it.

 

That moment doesn’t come until they’ve returned to the hotel room. Unlike the first time, they’re slower to remove their clothing and come together on the bed. They’re both operating under the unspoken agreement that this time, wherever they go in the morning, they’re going together.

 

For now, they lounge together in bed, covered in sweat and bruises and various scratchmarks, kissing one another for so long their lips are growing numb, and then they just talk, filling one another in on everything and more.

 

"Listen, do you know how nervous I was when I saw you at the airport? You're so fucking pretty. No, seriously, Lexa, you took my breath away, I didn't even know how to function."

  
"You acted perfectly casual, Clarke."

  
I told you I have the bladder of a puppy. A _puppy."_

 

"It was cute."

 

"It was embarrassing!"

 

"Well, when I met you, you had the same effect. I hate the window seat."

 

"I know. I discovered that like two seconds into the flight, and I spent the whole two hours offering to switch you back and you wouldn't do it."

 

"You didn't fight that hard."

 

"Well...honestly? I kinda liked you having to step over me every time you went to the bathroom."

 

"Mmm. I kinda liked that too."

 

They spend the night together, never sleeping; they talk, they kiss, they fuck, and they talk some more, until the sun is inching above the horizon and Clarke's never been more certain about another human being in her life.

   

“Clarke Griffin. Will you be my date to Lincoln and Octavia’s wedding?”

 

Clarke smiled. “Are you sure? I’m not the best dancer. Your toes are in danger.”

 

“I think I’ll take the risk.”

 

“Okay then.” She kissed her, softly. “I’ll be your date, Lexa Woods.” She laughs a little, tasting the name again. “So weird you’re my boss’s sister. This whole time. I’ve been looking for you and you’ve been right under my nose. Octavia’s right, I’m a useless bisexual.”

 

Lexa laughs. “It’s funny you say that. All Anya does is call me a useless lesbian.”

 

“I mean, I get that it’s a running joke, but the fact that it’s ironic is what makes it funny.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Can a lesbian really be useless when they give you so many orgasms you’re on the brink of death?”

 

Lexa laughs again. “Well, uh. I guess I never thought of that. Maybe you should tell that to Anya.”

 

“Oh, I think she’s finding out on her own.”

 

Lexa tilts her head inquisitively.

 

“She’s with Raven right now,” supplies Clarke. When Lexa only frowns, Clarke laughs again. “Fucking. I’m like, ninety percent sure she’s knuckle deep in your sister at this very moment.”

 

“Wait a minute. _Anya and Raven?”_

 

“Yep.”

 

Lexa looks puzzled for only a moment before her expression clears and she shrugs. “Well, whatever.” She glances at the clock, notes that it’s nearly six in the morning. Her smile is more crooked this time as she directs it at Clarke. “You’re not going to disappear on me again, are you?”

 

“Never. This, um...might be a little heavy, but..I kinda never want to disappear on you ever again."

 

Lexa grows quiet, her smile growing and cheeks glowing. "I don't want that either. I think I'd be pretty happy giving up my aisle seat to you for a long time, Clarke Griffin."

 

Clarke kisses her, long and slow and sweet, her palm pressed to Lexa's bare chest, just over her heart. "We'll take turns. How about that?"

 

"Sounds perfect."

 

Clarke smiles; the sunlight is peeking in through the chinks in the hotel curtains, and Lexa looks ethereal, light dancing vivid and alive in her green eyes. “Do you want to go get some breakfast together?”

 

Lexa sighs. “More than anything.”

 


End file.
